


Lavinia and Mary Have An Adventure

by Poshcat



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poshcat/pseuds/Poshcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just a bit of fluff for Yuletide, wherein Lavinia and Mary kick some post-Victorian ass, Sir Richard is the mustache-twirling villain of the piece, there's a gay, drunk deus ex machina, and Mr. Bates is pretty much James Bond with a bum leg. I hope you enjoy it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lavinia and Mary Have An Adventure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zlot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zlot/gifts).



Lavinia Swire knows she is small. She knows it as she looks up the imperious, wiry-haired noses of important men at boring parties. She knows it as her head rests squarely against the heartbeat of Matthew Crawley when he holds her. She’s come to accept how small she is, even appreciate it – but nothing, nothing on earth, makes Lavinia feel smaller than the residents of Downton Abbey.

She doesn’t know why she accepts their pity invitations to join them on the weekends now that Matthew is gone to war, and in fact it may not be pity that drives them but calculation, a desire to keep her close so they can sniff out her weaknesses; a pack of baying hounds have nothing on the Crowley clan. But accept their invitation she did, perhaps to show she refuses to cower in their presence, and she has no choice but to suffer through. She arrived the night before, the same hour as the horrid Sir Richard, not that they spoke. How she despises him and his heartlessness. She’ll never forgive him for blackmailing her and her father, and she’ll never forget the pain he’s caused. She knows Mary can be prickly, but how she could agree to marry that man is beyond Lavinia’s comprehension.

And now here they are at the breakfast table all together this fine Saturday morning, pretending to be the best of chums. Her cheeks positively ache from all the smiling she’s doing. She jabs at her soft boiled egg with a bit of buttered toast as they drone on about the wounded soldiers occupying their home. It’s kind of them to let the men stay here, but let’s just say they’re not bearing the burden silently.

“I’ll have a word with Clarkson so he can make sure the men understand they must keep quiet after nightfall,” Sir Robert says to his mother.

“I should hope so,” Violet sniffs. “It’s impossible to read in the evenings with the rukus they insist on making.”

“What are you reading?” Lavinia asks her, hoping to steer the conversation toward more interesting shores.

Violet casts an appraising look her way, and as always seems unsatisfied with the value of what she sees. “It doesn’t matter what I was reading, the outcome of the story is the same: being disturbed by men who should know better.”

And that’s the end of that. “You should hear them snore at night,” Edith says. “They sound like a squadron of areoplanes coming in for a landing.” She and Sybil have a hearty laugh at that, while their mother looks suitably aghast.

Sir Richard rises and tosses his his napkin on the table. “I apologize, but I have some correspondence that can’t wait,” he says. He looks benignly down at Mary, who still has a few bites of omelet left on her plate. “Are you coming?”

Mary quickly swallows what she’s chewing. “Yes, of course.” She smiles at her family to show how delighted she is with this development and hurries after him, because he hasn’t bothered to wait around to see if she’s going to follow him or not.

“The man works seven days a week,” Cora whispers even though they’re already out of earshot.

“Perhaps it will be more agreeable for Mary the less she sees of him,” Cousin Violet says without lowering her voice whatsoever. “I have a feeling he’s better company when he’s not present.” This is when Carson the butler has to turn away from the table with a coughing fit, and the subject is duly changed.

It isn’t long and soon everyone hurries off to do whatever it is they have planned after breakfast. No one invites Lavinia into those plans, of course. She spends the day wandering the grounds and hiding in her room thinking about Matthew. By turns her imagination sees him bloody and dead, and then home warm, safe, and victorious. Her stomach is in continual knots these days.

After supper she can’t bear to go back to her empty room again, so she ventures to the library to find a book of her own to read, even though the place is filled to the brim with wounded soldiers, who frighten her. Any one of them could be Matthew, and it’s hard to endure seeing them with their bandaged bodies and haunted eyes. But they take no notice of her, good or bad, and the hustle and bustle of the doctor and nurses is surprisingly comforting. They all seem to know their purpose exactly, and are doing nothing more than going about it as best they can. When Cousin Sybil spots her and stops to say hello, Lavinia asks if there’s anything she can do to help. “At night we mostly restock the supplies and fetch things for the soldiers. Would you like to do that?” Sybil asks her.

It’s likely the least significant job they have, but Lavinia is grateful for it. She tags along with one of the nurses and carries back a case of fresh bandages from the distant room they’ve designated a supply closet, then brings some of the men an extra blanket or tin of water and a kind word. Sybil introduces her to one of the officers, who is stick-thin and yellowish, but beaming from ear to ear. “Mr. Hale-Smythe has been working his hardest since he’s arrived,” Sybil tells her. “And he won’t be needing this any more.” She passes Lavinia a cane, which Mr. Hale-Smythe looks immensely relieved to be rid of. “Would you be able to return it to the supply room for me?”

Lavinia would. She heads off, cane gamely in hand, but soon discovers that it’s not as easy to find the supply room when one doesn’t have an escort showing the way. She hesitates in the labyrinth of rooms and halls and alcoves that make up Downton Abbey, trying to decide if she’s to go left or right to get to the destination she’s almost certainly lost track of, when she hears voices. One of them is a man, and even though Lavinia can’t hear what he’s saying, she can tell he’s angry. Very angry. And to the day she dies, she would recognize that voice anywhere.

She tiptoes closer and peeks into a small reading room with a barren fireplace and the faintest whiff of moldering books. Mary is pressed against the back wall, arms crossed, while Sir Richard stands in front of her, blocking her way. “Do you really think it would be that easy?” he’s asking her. “That I would roll over like a _dog_?”

Mary flinches. “I’m not saying I want to call off the wedding. I’m just saying I think we should wait a bit longer, and sort out whatever is happening, that’s all.”

“Whatever is happening with Matthew when he comes home, you mean. If he’s had a change of heart after the cruelties of war and all that?” Lavinia’s mouth goes dry. She knows about Matthew and Mary, of course, but Matthew has assured Lavinia that Mary is only a good friend now, and Lavinia believes him. How Mary feels about Matthew, though, is another story altogether.

“No, of course not,” Mary says. “Matthew has Lavinia, and I’m happy for them both. I only meant I believe a little time apart might do us both a world of...” She’s cut off when Sir Richard grabs her arm.

“If you leave me I’ll destroy you,” he says in a low, ugly voice. “I’ll tell everyone your little secret and the Crowleys will be ruined.”

Mary is white as milk, but she doesn’t falter. “They’ve shown you nothing but kindness. If you do anything to harm them, I’ll never speak to you again.”

Sir Richard releases her arm, and Lavinia breaths a sign of relief. It’s short lived, as he then closes his hands around Mary’s throat with casual ease. Mary pries helplessly at his fingers but he doesn’t let up. “If you think you can break our agreement as easily as that, you are sorely mistaken. I expect you to live up to your agreements, do you understand?” Mary frantically nods, but he still doesn’t let her go. Her face is turning an alarming shade of red. He’s going to teach her a lesson she won’t forget – just like he did with Lavinia’s father. His expression isn’t one of anger, but smug satisfaction that, as always, he will get his way.

Lavinia isn’t quite sure what happens next. She’s heard of people seeing red, but it’s never happened to her before...until now. Her vision literally disappears behind the raw power of her hatred for him and she steps forward before she even knows she intends to. She raises the cane above her head with both hands and brings it down with all her strength against the side of Sir Richard’s head. He lurches sideways, the other side of his head striking the wooden fireplace mantle. He collapses at their feet and doesn’t move again.

Mary and Lavinia stare wild-eyed at each other, both of them breathing equally hard even though it was only Mary who was being choked. “I...I don’t know what happened,” Lavinia stammers. “He was hurting you and I had to make him stop.”

“Of course you did. Thank you.” Mary quickly shuts the door, then kneels down and presses her ear to Sir Richard’s lips. She doesn’t move from there for much too long.

“Is he...?” Lavinia whispers, her stomach lurching.

“I think he’s dead,” Mary replies, her voice cracking in fear. She pulls herself into one of the two wingback chairs that grace this room. Lavinia sits shakily in the other. They face each other over Sir Richard’s body, quite at a loss.

“I can’t believe my luck,” Mary says to herself in a daze. “Twice. What are the odds? I ask you?”

But Lavinia isn’t listening; she has bigger worries on her mind. “I murdered him. I’m going to go to prison. My parents will disown me! And Matthew will leave me! No one will speak to me again and I’ll...”

“Nonsense,” Mary cuts in. “It was an accident. You didn’t mean to kill him.”

“After what he did to my family? Would you believe that if you were a judge?”

Mary bites her lip instead of denying it, and Lavinia begins to cry into her hands. Mary pushes Lavinia over and joins her on the other chair, even though it isn’t really meant for two people unless the two people in question are them. She grips Lavinia’s shoulders so fiercely that Lavinia’s tears immediately stop. “You’re not going to prison, Lavinia. We simply cannot allow Sir Richard to hurt us ever again, do you hear me? We’re going to get you out of this jam – we just have to think of something.”

Lavinia is buoyed by Mary’s unwavering determination, but can’t imagine what they might do. “We could ask your father to help us.”

“Dear Lord, no!”

“Your mother? Or Anna?”

Mary firmly shakes her head. “No, I don’t want them involved in this.”

“Should we tell the authorities?” Lavinia asks in a small voice.

“And have this end up in Monday’s newspaper? No, we desperately need to keep this quiet. Honestly, our problems would be solved if only we could get his body out of here before someone finds him.”

It hasn’t occurred to Lavinia to try to hide what they’ve done. “But he’s too heavy for us to carry.”

They stare down in despair at Sir Richard’s body, thinking as hard as they ever have in their lives. How can they possibly move him? And where would they take him? With the house full of soldiers, it would be impossible to get him out without _someone_ seeing him.

And as easily as that, a plan pops into Lavinia’s head. She jumps up. “I have an idea. I’ll be right back.” Mary protests weakly, but having no better ideas, capitulates. Lavinia rushes back to the library where all the soldiers are preparing for bed. Sybil’s on the other side of room, busy adjusting pillows, and doesn’t see her. Lavinia snatches a pair of blankets from the stockpile, a roll of bandages, a scissor. After a few frantic moments, she spies an unoccupied wheelchair left for anyone who may want to venture into the gardens. She throws everything she’s gathered onto the wheelchair’s seat and pushes the whole kit and kaboodle back to the room, where Mary is chewing off her fingernails as she waits.

Mary’s mouth drops open when she sees what Lavinia has brought. “What on earth are we going to do with that?”

“We’re going to pretend Sir Rickard is a wounded soldier,” Lavinia tells her, and saying out loud makes it sound much worse than it did in her head. She plows on regardless. “We’ll disguise him and wheel him out of Downton Abbey under everyone’s noses.”

“That’s insane,” Mary declares. Then adds practically, “Which is why it just might work.”

They find out immediately that there’s no way the two of them can drag Sir Richard off the floor and into the wheelchair. He’s simply too heavy, and as her hands begin to slip with perspiration, for the first time Lavinia fully appreciates the term _dead weight_. Mary gets the brilliant idea to set the wheelchair on its back and maneuver him into it that way, his knees poised ridiculously in the air. After they do that, it’s a much more manageable job to hoist him and the wheelchair back upright, especially after they figure out how to engage the wheelchair’s brake. Mary finds an elegant silver flask in Sir Richard’s jacket pocket, and neither of them hesitate to take a swallow of whatever is inside it. This situation is definitely going to require more courage than they could ever possess sober.

They quickly wrap the bandages around parts of his face and all of his head, especially the bleeding area that hit the mantle. They drape a blanket over his shoulders and another over his lap, and Sir Richard now looks like any of the gravely injured men convalescing in Downton Abbey. One more sip from the flask and Mary opens the door and peeks into the hall to see if anyone is hanging about. She signals back to Lavinia that the coast is clear, and Lavinia pushes the wheelchair holding Sir Richard’s body out of the room. “This way,” Mary tells her, and leads the way to the nearest exit. Inevitably, they meet up with a smattering of soldiers and even one of the nurses Lavinia remembers seeing before, but all of them look at the women helping the poor invalid with nothing but compassion and admiration. Lavinia is simultaneously ashamed and elated. This is going to work!

They slip out a back door, which isn’t as simple a task as they might want, with all the grunting and clattering they do as they finagle the wheelchair down the steps. It’s only by luck they don’t dump Sir Richard face-first onto the ground, which would be disastrous. “What should we do with him now?” Mary asks her, panting.

“We could put him on the grounds somewhere. Make it look like he fell and hit his head.”

“I’m not sure any detective worth his salt would believe that. No, we mustn’t let anyone find him.”

“How on earth can we do that?”

Mary obviously has an idea brewing. “This way.”

It takes both of them to push the wheelchair to the garage. Night has fallen, thank goodness, and the Crawley chauffeur (Lavinia can’t remember his name) is nowhere in sight. They find Sir Richard’s car with a minimum of fuss and Mary fishes the key from Sir Richard’s pocket. “Do you know how to drive?” Lavinia asks her anxiously.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Mary says, which doesn’t at all calm Lavinia’s frayed nerves. They pull Sir Richard from the wheelchair into the back of the car using the strength their fear supplies, one pulling from the inside, one pushing from the outside. It would be comical if it wasn’t so dreadful. They abandon him to the back seat as quickly as they’re able, covering him with the blankets in case they’re stopped by someone. They themselves scramble into the front seat, where Lavinia watches Mary insert and turn the key with a shaking hand, then begin a series of complicated operations with the pedals and levers that bring the auto to life and send it grinding and lurching down the driveway. Luckily Sir Richard demanded only the best cars made, because it would be doubtful a more questionable automobile could have survived this.

Lavinia waits for the chauffeur to come running after them to stop them, but perhaps he’s inside having supper because soon enough they’re on the main road and nobody seems to have noticed them at all. “I think you should keep the lights off,” Lavinia advises.

“Good, because I don’t know how to turn them on,” Mary says. “I’ve only driven in the daytime.” She glances over at Lavinia. “Are you all right?”

“I am not.” It’s most certainly an understatement. Mary hands her the flask, and they both take another drink from it, then another. It helps, as awfully as it burns on the way down.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Lavinia asks her. She almost doesn’t want to hear the answer.

“Yes. It’s not far. We can’t be gone too long or someone will miss us.”

Lavinia can’t imagine trying to cover their absence with lies if they’re discovered after this. Mary might be able to spin a convincing tale, but Lavinia herself would be a blushing, stuttering mess. What would life be like in prison, anyway? She wagers the food would be inedible, the other women boorish. And tall.

Mary’s right; only a few minutes pass before she’s parking the car. There’s a lake in front of them, if you want to call it that. More like a pond that’s too big for its britches. They get out – it’s cold and damp and of course they don’t have coats or even sweaters. “We used to play here as children,” Mary says. “I suppose this will ruin those memories forever for me now.” The moon is bright and Mary has never looked more beautiful with her dark eyes and alabaster skin. Lavinia wants desperately to say something to make her feel better, so she tells her, “It’s not too late to turn ourselves in. We could go to the police and confess everything.”

This in fact does not make Mary feel better at all. On the contrary. “And ruin our lives for the sake of Sir Richard? He would have loved that. Winning even when he’s dead.”

She has a point, although Lavinia certainly doesn’t feel they’re winning at the moment, either. “Then what shall we do now?”

“We’re going to get him out of the car, fill his clothes with rocks and dump him in the middle of the lake. There should still be an old canoe around here somewhere.” She searches the dark shoreline for the aforementioned canoe, hands on hips.

If someone had suggested such a course of action even that morning, Lavinia would have been horrified. Now that she’s on the path to ruin and mayhem, she merely shrugs. Killing Sir Richard has made her numb – although the thought of having to drag him all the way into a canoe still might make her cry. “All right. If that is our plan, then let’s get him on the ground.”

Mary grins crookedly at her. “You’re turning out to be a sight tougher than I expected, Lavinia Squire.”

Lavinia is glad of the dark, for surely she’s blushing. They open the back door and study Sir Richard, the origin of all their problems, covered in blankets and heavy as bricks to carry. They each take an arm and prepare to drag him onto the rocks.

That’s when they find out Sir Richard is, in fact, not dead at all but most disconcertingly alive. He moans and tries to sit up, yanking his hands away from theirs so he can pull the blanket from his face. Mary and Lavinia both scream in unison, shrill as a train whistle; a few birds, grouse or duck or the like, take to the sky at the sound of it. Purely on instinct, Lavinia reaches down and snatches one of the smooth cold rocks that was likely going to end up with his body at the bottom of the lake, and without another thought clonks him on the head with it. He collapses once again and is still.

They both sink unsteadily to the ground, gasping for breath as if they’d just run a race. The rocks are slippery and wet and smell like fish. “Oh my God,” Mary says. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

“You said he was dead!” Lavinia shouts.

“I thought he was!” Mary shouts back.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now.” Now that her heart isn’t trying to beat itself directly out of her chest, this turn of events seems like good news indeed. “Don’t you see? I may have hit him with a cane, but he choked you. He’s as guilty as I am, so he’s not going to want the authorities involved either. Everything is going to be all right now, Mary. We’re saved.”

Instead of agreeing, Mary’s suddenly choking back tears. “Whatever is the matter?” Lavinia asks her.

“It’s not all right. It’s never going to be all right. He’s still going to make me marry him, and then he’ll be able to do as he wants with me with not even the law or my Papa to stop him.”

Lavinia, who has never loved or been loved by anyone except trustworthy and honourable Matthew, is shattered at the thought. “But surely he’ll be more kind in the future, once he knows you’re his forever.”

Mary laughs bitterly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Yes, as long as I do exactly as he says in all things. That’s the sort of man he is. I’m just another piece in his collection of pretty things for other men to admire.”

She can’t bear to hear this hard truth. “Then don’t marry him. He assaulted you – your family would understand.”

“Sir Richard knows my secrets, I’m afraid. He made it quite plain tonight that I must toe the line or pay the price, one way or another. If he can no longer hurt me, I have no doubt he’ll hurt my loved ones instead.”

“You mean he’s blackmailing you just as he blackmailed me?” Lavinia is thunderstruck and outraged at this revelation.

“Well, he wouldn’t call it that. He helped me once, and now he feels that I owe him. I suppose I do. I just wish it wasn’t the rest of my life I owed.” She’s sobbing now, so hard it breaks Lavinia’s heart.

“There must be something we can do. Some way to make him no longer desire your hand in marriage.”

“If you haven’t noticed, he’s not the kind of man to let go once he gets something in his sights.”

“I don’t think I have it in me to kill him a second time.”

“No, of course not. It’s time to go home and face the music.” Mary smiles bravely, her cheeks still wet with tears. They haul themselves to their feet in a most unladylike manner and stuff Sir Richard back into the car before they climb into the front. It’s no warmer, but it’s at least dry. Lavinia’s teeth begin to chatter.

Mary starts the engine. Before she can put the car into reverse, Lavinia puts her hand on Mary’s arm. “I’m sorry, I can’t accept this. Is there _nothing_ that can make him see the error of his ways? Is there no one else who can help us?”

Mary bites on her thumbnail and thinks. “Maybe there is,” she finally says, and sets the car in motion.

They drive in silence, straining to hear if Sir Richard has woken up, but there’s nothing. Perhaps he really did die this time; Lavinia can’t quite decide if that would be good news or bad news. It takes her a rather long time to realize they’re driving to Downton village. It seems like madness to go where others can see them, but she puts her faith in Mary. When Mary parks the car at the back of a tavern called The Red Lion, Lavinia gets out without a word of caution or doubt. It seems impossibly late for that now anyway.

She follows Mary into the establishment, which doesn’t seem too, too shady, but is still no place for the likes of them. Of course, they’re soaked and muddy and Mary’s usually perfect upswept hair is hanging in wild clumps around her face, so they’re actually in worse shape than most of the others sitting around the small tables inside.

Mary stops just inside the door and scans the bar, the only betrayal of her fear when she clutches Lavinia’s hand for support. Lavinia is mystified who Mary could possibly know in a place like this, but she doesn’t have to wait long to find out. A middle-aged gentleman with dark, slicked back hair and a confident square to his shoulders almost instantly sees them, and comes out from behind the bar to greet them. He’s obviously as shocked to see them here as they are to be there.

“M’lady,” he says to Mary. “What are you doing here?”

“Hello, Mr. Bates,” Mary says with a game smile as if this is something they do every day when they get bored. “You remember Lavinia – Matthew’s fiancée?”

Mr. Bates bows just the proper amount in her direction. Lavinia barely remembers Mr. Bates, although she’s heard enough about him at Downton Abbey. Given the near-hero status that has been conferred on him, she’s surprised to see he uses a cane for something so banal as a limp.

“I’m afraid I need to talk to you about something important. Is there somewhere we can go?”

“Of course.” He leads them through to the back rooms, nodding at the other man working with him, who nods back.

He takes them all the way through to the kitchen, far away from the din of the tavern. “What’s happened?” he asks without preamble. Lavinia supposes the time for small talk has long passed them by.

“Sir Richard and I had a quarrel earlier this evening.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“As am I. It grew quite heated, and Lavinia had to step in to stop it. Because of this quarrel, I’ve decided I don’t want to marry him anymore.”

“But what has this to do with me?” he asks, reasonably.

Mary takes a huge breath in. “Sir Richard is forcing me to marry him upon threat of making public things I would rather be kept private. I need you to help me convince Sir Richard that he doesn’t want to marry me.”

“But how?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. Of all the people I know, you’re the only one with the mettle to handle Sir Richard...and the only one I can trust.”

He slowly shakes his head. “I’m sorry, M’Lady. I’m not above using unorthodox methods of persuasion, but over a lover’s quarrel? No, I have to do what I think is right, and this is not it.”

Mary nods, then unbuttons the top three buttons on her dress, pulling back the collar to expose the ugly purple bruises Sir Richard has left behind on her neck. “This is what Sir Richard thinks is right.”

Mr. Bates stares at this stark evidence, his expression turning flinty and cold even as Lavinia watches. Suddenly, Mr. Bates is much more handsome than she first thought. “He did this to you?” he says, his voice even.

“Yes. And made it understood that I will marry him, no matter what.”

The muscle along his jaw line tightens. “And where is Sir Carlisle now?”

There’s a long silence, then Mary says, “In the car outside. Unconscious.”

“What! Why?”

“Because Lavinia hit him in the head with a cane to save me. And then a rock. Later on, I mean.”

Mr. Bates opens his mouth, then closes it again. He looks at Lavinia with newfound respect. At least, she hopes it’s respect. Certainly whatever he feels about her, it isn’t the same as ten seconds ago.

“Will you help us, Mr. Bates?” Lavinia asks him.

He rubs his face. “Do you want him hurt?”

“I would prefer not. I only want him silenced.”

“Give me a minute.” Mr. Bates thinks so long that Lavinia fears he won’t be able to come up with solution, either. And then all is lost, isn’t it?

Even from all the way back here, they can hear a sudden burst of laughter from the front, and a man loudly breaking into song. Mr. Bates’s head shoots up at the sound of it. “Wait here,” he tells them, and goes back into the tavern. They don’t speak while he’s gone, because they don’t want to jinx whatever luck that may finally be headed their way.

They don’t have to wait long; in less than a minute he’s back with someone, a young man who’s uncommonly good-looking. So good-looking he’s almost pretty, in fact. He’s also very, very drunk. “This is my friend, James,” Mr. Bates says to them, although he makes no mention of their names to James.

“Call me Jimmy,” he tells them before elaborately kissing all four of their dirty hands. “Are you a friend of John’s? Because he’s a grand friend. Grand. He saved my father in the war, did you know that? He’s a hero, he is.”

They nod, speechless.

Mr. Bates steers him away from them. “James is a photographer and journalist. He’s about to head out indefinitely to France to photograph the soldiers in action.” He pauses as if that has more significance than it might first appear.

“Aye, that’s why I’m here, to say goodbye to John before I leave. He saved my father, you know.” He wells up with tears at the thought.

“Jimmy, I need a favour from you.”

“For you? Anything. Except money, because I have none!” He brays laughter, tears momentarily damped.

Mr. Bates holds him steady. “We want to play a prank on someone. Will you help us?”

“Sure! I love a good prank.”

“Our friend is passed out in a car outside. We want a photograph of him in a compromising position. Do you have your camera with you?”

“Always, mate. So, a photo of him drunk, vomit on his clothes, that sort of thing?”

“No, worse than that.”

“Oh, so you’re going for scandalous, then. Um, with a girl?”

“Worse than that,” Mr. Bates says. He doesn’t look at Lavinia and Mary.

“What’s worse than that?” He pauses, swaying, then lowers his voice to an exaggerated whisper. “Do you want a picture of him with a _boy_? Oh, that’s rotten! So do you mean you or me?”

Mr. Bates can’t help but laugh. “I think a more handsome bloke than me is called for. Will you do it? Just a quick cuddle while I take the photo, if you’ll be kind enough to show me how.”

“Certainly, certainly. I mean, I _love_ women, many women, all _sorts_ of them.” He takes the trouble to kiss Lavinia’s hand one more time to show he really means it. “And it’s just a joke, right? A laugh on a pal. Men do all sorts of things when they’re drunk. Right? All sorts.”

“They most certainly do,” Mr. Bates agrees from the bottom of his heart. “Now go get your camera.”

And that is how Lavinia and Mary come to be standing lookout behind the tavern while Mr. Bates shoots photos of Jimmy doing heaven knows what with Sir Richard in the back of his car. Sir Richard seems to be coming to at an alarming rate, so they’re at least quick about it. Lavinia has never heard of men with men in such a manner...at least, not this far North, to be sure. Not in respectable company, anyway.

When the deed is done, Jimmy staggers off with promises to send the photos care of the tavern just as soon as he gets a chance to develop them. “Do you think he’ll really send them?” Mary asks Mr. Bates as they watch him weave down the empty lane into the darkness.

“I do,” he replies. “Jimmy would never miss a chance to see himself in print.”

The moans from the back seat are turning more coherent by the moment. They might even hear him trying to open the door. “And what are we to do about Sir Richard?” Lavinia says.

Without a word, Mr. Bates unwinds the bandages from Sir Richard's head. He wraps the first one quickly and efficiently around Sir Richard’s eyes. The next he knots around Sir Richard’s wrists pulled behind his back. The last he stuffs into Sir Richard’s mouth. “That should keep him close at hand and harmless.”

The women gape at him. “What exactly did you say you did during the war?” Lavinia asks him.

“I didn’t,” he replies, and shuts the door on Sir Richard’s muffled cries. “Now, I shall drive him to the gates of Downton Abbey and dump him there. He can find his own way back.”

“Won’t he tell what’s happened?”

“Not as long as you have those bruises on your neck. And by then you’ll be able to warn him of the photos that may or may not end up in the public eye depending on his manners.”

Lavinia isn’t convinced. “But he can deny everything – the photos are a lie, after all.”

“They don’t have to be true. They just have to have the _possibility_ that they’re true. That’s enough to ruin any man’s reputation – just ask the likes me.” He grins, and Lavinia is now officially dazzled by Mr. Bates. “Tell Mr. Carson what he did to you. He’ll make sure you’re safe from now on.”

“This is never going to work,” Mary says.

“Maybe. But you won’t be able to say we didn’t try. Now – you two dash home. I’ll give you a half hour head start.”

Mr. Bates slips in the back door of the tavern before they can even thank him for his help. Before they set off, Mary retrieves the flask from the front of the car and they do their best to empty it on the long walk home. It’s unimaginable, but the more they drink to keep warm, the funnier this night becomes. They lean against each other, helplessly snorting, as they recount Lavinia trying to lift Sir Richard's corpse into the wheelchair, and the both of them screaming their heads off when Sir Richard rises from the dead, and Jimmy assuring them of all the assorted and sundry women he’s loved before.

When they finally arrive, they’re foot-sore, exhausted, and chilled to the bone. Mary sneaks them into the servants’ door like a seasoned thief, and they giggle their way to Lavinia’s room, dodging witnesses at every turn. Somehow, they’ve been gone for less than two hours; it’s not even nine o’clock yet. Lavinia shuts the door behind them – they’ve made it!

“I’d like to thank you for a lovely evening,” Mary says, which sets them off again, laughing until tears come to their eyes. Mary sobers up enough to add softly, “No, really. Thank you for your help, Lavinia. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“I’m glad I could be of service,” Lavinia whispers back. “But you really must go. We need to clean up and change our clothes.”

Mary inspects her now-ragged frock. “Good heavens, I might have to burn mine.”

“Remember to lock your bedroom door – at least until we know Sir Richard has been well and truly leashed.”

“Of course, and I’ll take Mr. Bates’ advice and speak to Carson in the morning.”

“What will you do if Sir Richard tells the world your secrets anyway?”

Mary sighs. “At this point, I’m too tired to care. Perhaps I’ll stay a spinster and be the happier for it.”

“You know Matthew and I will always take care of you no matter what.”

“I know that, and thank you. Perhaps I’ll come live with you both once you’re married.”

Just this morning, this declaration would have filled Lavinia with jealous anxiety. Now it seems like rather a splendid idea. “Goodnight, Mary. What an adventure it was!” She kisses Mary on the cheek.

“A little too adventurous if you ask me.” Mary kisses her back, at the edge of Lavinia’s mouth, and Mary's lips are soft and cold and a strange feeling lurches in the pit of Lavinia's stomach. Lavinia’s eyes flutter closed of their own accord. She doesn’t move, and when she opens her eyes Mary is studying her, no longer smiling. Lavinia is frozen to the spot, hardly able to breathe.  Mary kisses her again, and this time it’s not on the cheek. Lavinia’s knees begin to tremble with the effort to stay upright.

  
"Tell me no," Mary says into Lavinia's ear. "Tell me no and I'll stop."

Lavinia doesn't tell her no. It isn't decent what she wants Mary to do to her, but no one has ever ordered her not to do this with a woman. No one has ever mentioned women _could_ do this, not once. Maybe God doesn't even care.

God may be indifferent, but Mary gets Lavinia's full attention when she pushes Lavinia against the door and kisses her on the mouth in a way Matthew has never dared, slow and deliberate, using her tongue, teasing her until Lavinia's breathing is barely more than a sob. Mary's hands run down Lavinia’s body like they own it, over her breasts and then under her dress. When her fingers reach Lavinia's bare thighs, Lavinia moans, and suddenly Mary's kisses aren't gentle at all.  They're rushed and mean, and Mary is panting and Lavinia's world is spinning and this feels achingly good, so good she might faint, so good her legs are opening up, wanting more, wanting Mary to do other things to her down there, worse things, evil things, and when Mary's thumbs brush against Lavinia's knickers, the shock of desire between Lavinia’s legs is so overpowering she pushes Mary away. “This is wrong,” she gasps. “It’s a sin.”

Mary’s eyebrows rise up in disbelief. “We tried to kill my fiancée and throw his body into a lake, and you're worried about _this_ sin?”

This gets them laughing again, and they crack up into each other’s necks. The mood is spoilt, perhaps for the best, and they give each other a last hug before Mary leaves. “Sweet dreams,” Mary says to her with a wink as she shuts the door, which brings another rush of shameful feelings into Lavinia’s most private parts.

She’s so tired she doesn’t even bother to wash up, just strips down to her unmentionables and throws herself into bed. She drifts off to thoughts of Mary kissing her, Sir Richard getting his just desserts, and Mr. Bates and his steely gaze. She realizes with a start that this is the first time she isn’t worried about Matthew since the war began. She may indeed be small, but she knows now that no matter what happens, she is surely strong enough to stand against it.


End file.
